Cemetery Breeze

The Dead overgrowth of plant like matter clung to a frail rusted fence. The fence bordered a small hilltop cemetery, dividing wild unkept forest with man-made structures. The headstones plummet upward from the soil, reaching for the dull summer sky. Their hollow inscriptions begged for remembrance of those who passed by, but only one man ever paid his respects. This man’s face was creased and stretched with age, the color form his hair was drained and the years of gravity had pushed him downward onto his cane. But the old man’s most stunning feature where his eyes. Such a piercing and pure blue, so vivid and illuminate yet heavy and troubled by all they had witnessed.

The man knelt before each grave stone, spewing personal words to the cold granite slabs, as if they had the ears to hear him. A small disturbance rustled in the brush, the old man purposefully erected himself above his cane to face the unusual visitor. A young teenage girl slowly eased open the rickety gate, its screeches breaking the silence of a rather still day. She was very aware of the old man’s presence, but refused to engage him in conversation till she was standing in his shadow.

“Hmmm you must be the Cemetery watchman.” The young girl spoke with a sense of doubt, as if she didn’t expect the old man existed till just now.

“Not one for pleasantries are you my dear?” the old man spoke slow and shaky pausing carefully to collect his words.
“Yes I am the caretaker of this resting place, and what might be your name dear?” the young girl craned her head, surveying the small cemetery.

“Seems to be a mess if you ask me, you must not do a very good job around here. And my name is Amy” The young girl caught the man’s gaze to see if her words had provoked him in any way. But the man simply chuckled at the brashness of her youth.

“Well Amy it’s not the landscape I tend to dear, it’s the memories.”

“The memories? What could you possibly mean by that, you tend to what memories?” the old man smiled, he was in awe of her curiosity. A sensation he had long since out grown.

“I am the preserver, a historian if you will. I know everything that ever was about that little town.” The old man stretched out a feeble finger putting the town of Utopia at his finger tip on the horizon.

“What’s worth remembering about Utopia’s history? If we get caught up in the past we will lose sight of our future!” the girls words we obviously coached, her opinions had be designed by the school system and her elders. She clearly didn’t see the world the way the old man did.

“When man perishes, it is his history that remains. Not his goals for the future. If one becomes too caught up in progress and the obsessive hunt for perfection he loses sight in the beauty of the moment. Can I tell you a story young lady?” the man’s piercing eyes flushed with care, softly awaiting her reply.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“My dear you can’t properly listen to a story if you are not in a position to hear it! Let’s sit.” The man gestured for her to sit beside him, using the grave stone as a back rest for the both of them.

“Isn’t that disrespectful? To sit on a grave like that.” The girl seemed very concerned with the consequences of the man’s action.

“These people no longer hold value of earthly things, besides I knew most of these people and I am sure they would gladly give me a place to sit if they still happened to be alive. Now stop your worry and come have a seat.” The two sat beside each other in the dead weeds. Each of them on opposing ends of the human spectrum, but coming together to rehash a common interest. The man pulled a small green stem from the mass of perished organic matter. The man carefully examined the stem before releasing it to the wind and letting his eyes settle on the city scape before him.

“You see Time changes everything, and not always for the better. Decades pass sculpting the face of that little town like clay. Forming and reforming the stage. Changing the characters and changing the actors. Only the moving of the clock remains the same, the minute hand continues to move. But that doesn’t mean there are not lessons to be learned from the past, or memories to be cherished. 100 years ago this town was carved into that valley with one goal in mind. To create a tolerant paradise where all citizens could progress together in harmony. The founders of Utopia dreamed of a city where all its members could work toward creating a perfect environment, I city version of Heaven here on earth. So the people of Utopia aimed for just that, every day seeking to further perfect there little paradise and themselves as people. Before long the cultures only goal was obsession with making everything perfect. Not everyone could keep up with this ideal, but rather than be cast out of Utopia most decided to put up a façade, to act as though they were perfect. Before long this obsession had consumed the town, and I was the only one to speak out about the problem. Eventually they cast me out for speaking heresy. I tried to teach those people that the beauty in life is in the imperfections and that happiness is not attempting to make things perfect, but accepting the things you can’t change and being okay with that. But not a one listened to my words, it’s often that those who try to change the discourse are labeled at insane traitors. I knew my actions would lead to my exile but I had grown tired of the endless pursuit for something better, when life was already beautiful. And now here we are, I am exiled to this mountain top to preserve the past and the wisdoms life has taught me, and every day I look out over Utopia and see the ill effects of their duplicity and obsession. Everyone lying to one another, children forced to improve and perfect. And endless cavalcade of new surgeries to perfect the body and mind, they seek to achieve a goal that will never be reached. The grass is always greener, and you can only give chase for so long before your body withers and your mind is exhausted.” The man’s words trailed off, his age made him tire in the most trivial of actions, and his rant had drained his energy reserves. The girl looked into the old man’s eyes.

“What can we do?” concern permeated her voice. It was clear the old man had captured the young girls inspiration.

“We, I am afraid nothing in that context, but you… you can always make a change.” The old man was growing even shorter of breath. He paused between words even longer than before.

“How, I am just a teenager. One teenager! How could I change anything of importance.”

“What you do with your life, may change what other people do with theirs. And like ripples in a water, in time you can affect the entire lake. I think I am going to nap for a short while, I am sorry. I wish you the best Amy.” The old man closed his eyes breathing deeply to relax his body. Amy stood up and began her journey back down the hillside toward her home. All the while the old man watched thinking of the ripple he just created and in that thought he finally found peace with which to rest.